


Don't You Dare Close Your Eyes

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Found Family, Genie is a great father figure, Hurt/Comfort, Slavery, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-02 15:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: It is the one and only time he disobeys his father. He stops, crouching behind the stones, legs and lungs burning, and looks back.Blood looks black in the moonlight. (He only learns much later, when he’s bandaging a sword cut from a guard who was much too close for comfort, that this is what he saw staining the sand that terrible night.)Aladdin's past should be buried out in the desert, never to return. Both the slave trader who murdered his parents and the lamp that contains a revenge-hungry Jafar are believed lost to the sands of time. But some things are not as buried as everyone wants to believe...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_another_outcast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/gifts).



**Fifteen years ago…**

He wakes up to the sound of clanking metal. It’s become a normal part of the nights now, but tonight it is louder. Closer.

He rolls over in the sand to see why the sound is so loud. His mother puts her finger to her lips. In one hand she is holding a thin hairpin. He recognizes it, one of the other women had it in her hair this morning. Mama’s small clever hands are as quick to snatch things that might be useful as they are to flip fish from a stream or spin wool into thread.

His eyes widen as the shackles fall free of her ankles, and she begins to work on the ones around his father’s feet. The man stirs, and looks directly at him. He lowers his head back to the sand, feigning sleep and quiet breathing the way he used to when he snuck out of the hut in the village at night.

“Son.” His father’s voice is soft, but not angry. “I know you are awake.” He lifts his head guiltily.

“I’m sorry, Baba.”

“No. It is good.” His father’s chains fall off with a clatter, and both he and Mama look toward the guards. But the men are drinking and laughing around the warm campfire, warding off the chill of the desert night. His father beckons him closer and he crawls forward, curling against the warmth of the man’s body.

“Whatever happens tonight, you promise me one thing. Run.” His father’s voice is strained, fearful. He’s never seen Baba afraid like this. Not until the men with swords and chains came to the village. “Run, and no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, don’t stop until you’re so far away they can never find you.”

“We must go. Now.” His mother’s hands are gentle on his back. It still aches and burns, even days after the whip lashed him to the ground. She pulls him to his feet, and then they begin to run.

He hears the shouts behind them, angry yells in both his own language and so many he doesn’t know. The guards have seen them. He struggles to breathe, the cold dry air feels like it’s cutting his throat, but he can’t stop. _I have to run like I’ve never run before._ He pretends he’s racing Salim with the goats, he can beat anyone in the village even when they’re taller and stronger than he is. He’s small and fast and he knows all the shortest ways. _Don’t think about what happened to Salim and his father. Just run._

He’s not cold anymore, sweat is pouring down his face and back. They have to outrun the men. Or they will die. He saw what happened to the people in the village who fought back, who tried to free themselves. He heard the screams and saw blood, and then they were as still and silent as old Grandmother when her soul took its journey and Baba closed her eyes for the last time.

The ground changes, and instead of sand his feet slap against rough, sharp stones. It’s getting even harder to run, the rocks are sloping upward. He manages to lift his head and there’s a ridge of rough, rocky mountains silhouetted against the moon.

The ground is so steep now that they’re on hands and knees, scrambling up the slope. His fingers find the cracks and ledges in the stone the way they do on the walls of the village, when he and the other children climb over to avoid the notice of anyone at the gates. But the mountain, unlike the wall, seems to go on forever.

He flinches when he hears stone crumble, but it’s not his hands slipping. It’s Mama’s. He turns and sees her wide eyes for just a moment before she’s falling, her scream cut off when she strikes the ground so far below.

“Salya!” His father’s voice is cracked with grief. Mama is lying at the bottom of the cliff, and her leg looks wrong. She’s trying to get up, but then she screams and falls back to the sand.

“Mama!” He’s crying now, Mama is hurt and she’s alone, and he wants her so badly. “Baba…”

“Keep climbing. I have to go help her.” There’s something wrong in Baba’s voice. “Don’t stop, don’t look back. We will meet you again.” And then Baba turns and scrambles down the mountain to where Mama is lying.

He keeps climbing, his fingers torn by the rocks and rough branches of the twisted trees growing here. And then he hears the shouts, and Baba’s voice. “Don’t touch her!” And then he hears the screams.

It is the one and only time he disobeys his father. He stops, crouching behind the stones, legs and lungs burning, and looks back.

Blood looks black in the moonlight. (He only learns much later, when he’s bandaging a sword cut from a guard who was much too close for comfort, that this is what he saw staining the sand that terrible night.)

Father and Mother are so still. He wants to call to them, to tell them to please get up, he can’t be alone, he needs them. But all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled, incoherent sob of grief and confusion and loss.

“There! Grab him!” The guards are pointing upward now, they know where he is. He scrambles, desperate to keep going, to keep climbing.

The rocks slide away from his feet, stones rattling down the side of the mountain and falling in a steadier and steadier stream. He can hear choked curses behind him as the men try to shield themselves from the falling rocks. He struggles further and further up, clutching at anything he can hold, hands bleeding and burning against the stones. There’s a rumbling roar in his ears, and at first he thinks it’s the fear and anger and grief, but then he feels it in his bones, and realizes the whole world seems to be shaking.

The whole side of the mountain feels like it’s falling. He throws himself forward, grabbing the trunk of a twisted, stunted tree, clinging to it with every bit of strength left in him as the world crumbles under his feet...

* * *

Aladdin gasps, dragging in a breath of hot desert air. But instead of stone and blood, the air tonight smells fresh with the scent of the orchids growing in every window. He sighs, running shaking hands through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s not running for his life. He’s safe in the palace beside the woman he loves. Who it appears he just awakened, if her breathing is any indication.

“Another dream?” Jasmine asks.

He nods. _Another dream of what I would rather forget._ While his nightmares now include being burned alive in a flow of lava, slowly starving in a cave filled with all the riches in the world, drowning at the bottom of the sea, or freezing to death far beyond any hope of help, the old dreams that plagued him on the streets still rear their ugly heads sometimes. Dreams of being caught stealing, having his hands sliced off at the wrists, begging for scraps like the people he’s seen in the markets. And the dreams that have haunted him as long as he can remember. Chains and whips and blood and sand. Screams and pleas and sobs. Running until he collapsed, surrounded by nothing but burning sand. Dragging himself, thirsty and tired, to the outskirts of a city he thought could only be a mirage.

“What of?” She asks, sitting up in the moonlight. She has her fair share of nightmares as well, dreams in which she opens her mouth but her voice is gone, dreams in which Jafar kills her father before her eyes before taking her by force as his bride. They understand each other in that, at least.

"The slavers."

He had to tell her the truth about that too. There was no lying when she’d seen the old scars, the faded whip lines crossing his back and shoulders. He should have known, his secrets never stay hidden long. _But it seemed even worse to tell her I was a slave than a common thief._

Jasmine had been horrified, but not, as he’d been prepared for, with his past or the ugly scars he’d shown her. She had no idea that the trade still continued in the nation. Behind the palace walls, she was sheltered from the painful realities. Her mother had come from a free nation, and when she married the Sultan had insisted on every palace slave being freed, and that the Sultan never again purchase another slave. He had obeyed her wish scrupulously, even after her death, but the few laws regulating the trade were never strongly enforced outside the walls of the palace itself.

Jasmine had immediately enacted laws not only ending every form of the slave trade still existing in Agrabah, but also ones working toward freeing the slaves already there. It's been a difficult change. Already concerned about the ability of their new female Sultan to rule effectively, many of the nobility have been pushing back against the loss of a thousand year old way of life.

“They’ll never touch you again.” Her hand slides to his back, he’s sure she can feel the scars through the thin shirt. “If any of them so much as set foot in this city, they’ll pay for their crimes.”

He nods and leans back against the pillows. He’s miles away from the desert, and he’s not a frightened, lonely child anymore. The past can touch his dreams, but the past is where he left it, buried under sand and stone, never to return.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, because it's me, we all know that last line is a lie... 
> 
> This is a whole fic in the works, but I just couldn't wait any longer to share some of it with you!


	2. Chapter 2

“Faster!” Khalil shouts. His horse tosses its head, struggling against his grip on the reins, and he yanks her head up. Her sides are lathered, flanks heaving, but he cannot afford to delay. 

He can no longer sell his slaves in Agrabah. The new Sultan has forbidden the trade in every part of her dominion, with a ferocity of purpose that almost seems personal. But she cannot control the entirety of the wastes, so his caravans are able to continue their normal routes. For now. 

He turns the horse to look back at the shuffling line of slaves behind him, stumbling through the sand. He hears coughing and clanking and the panting of dry throats, the slaves are as exhausted as his mount. But it’s better that a few die out here than all of them be caught by one of the Sultan’s soldiers.  _ Besides, the ones who die are the weak, who are too hard to sell.  _

But one of the figures behind him in the dust isn’t shuffling slowly, head hanging. It’s moving fast, almost running, away from the group. A child, arms outstretched, hurrying in a clumsy sliding run, tripping on the sand. He can see several of the slaves turning for just a moment to look after the girl, then looking back down at the sand. They know better than to shout, to draw attention to themselves.

“Get that child back here!” The girl is too small for manacles, he was hoping her obvious fear would keep her clinging to her parents. But she’s wandered away from them, almost laughing as she hurries after something only she can see.

He kicks his horse to a gallop after her, and she falls to the ground, crying, as he pulls the animal to a halt just shy of her, making it rear, hooves flailing over her head. He hears a shout from somewhere in the caravan, probably the child’s mother.  _ Next time, keep her close. _

He leaps down from his horse, grabs the girl by the arm, and throws her down on her stomach on the sand. He pulls his whip from the saddle and brings it down hard, three times, across her shoulders. A warning. 

She screams, blood staining the sand, and he kneels beside her. “Wander off again, and I will beat you until you cannot stand and leave you for the vultures.” He doesn’t think she can understand what he’s saying, her people come from the mountains of Sherebad, but his intent is clear. 

The children are always a problem. They sell well, many buyers find it easier to train them for whatever work they desire, but they cause him no end of trouble. He clenches his one good hand tighter around the handle of his whip, and the scar on his cheek seems to burn. The boy who left him with those wounds is not just the only slave to ever escape him, he’s the person who’s come closest to killing him.  _ Someday, I will find him, and I will make him pay. _ He wants to hear the boy scream as his own arm is crushed beneath unendurable weight, to make him lie trapped in the desert sun for hours, circled by vultures and tormented by insects.  _ He will suffer as he made me suffer.  _

He turns to mount his horse, and a glimmer of something catches his eye. Something nearly buried in the dunes is reflecting the sunlight. Whatever it is must have been what the girl was so distracted by. Light glimmers off metal, and he walks closer. 

More than one merchant caravan has become lost in the wastes, wandering hopelessly until the men and camels die one by one, buried in the shifting sands, the treasure they were carrying never finding its way to the intended owners. Perhaps the girl was useful after all.

He lifts the metal from the sand with the edge of his scarf, feeling the heat even through the thick cloth. It’s a lamp. Tarnished and worn, likely because of its exposure to the weather. There must be more of the travelers’ merchandise below this dune. 

Stopping now risks not only running dangerously low on their diminishing supply of water, but also being stumbled upon by one of the Sultan’s patrols. But it’s a risk he’s willing to take. His business is less profitable with the Sultan’s new decrees; a port city like Agrabah was a prime place to sell nearly his whole caravan each time. Now his routes are longer and he sells only a few slaves at a time. He needs the money. 

He orders the guards to bring the caravan to a halt and to lead the slaves over to the dunes where he’s standing, then points to the sand and cracks the whip in a warning of what will happen if they disobey him. "Dig!" The exhausted slaves struggle to comply. He watches them work while the sun rises higher, while the youngest and oldest begin to falter. The sand is dug away in huge patches, and the slaves’ hands are raw from the work.

But there is no gold. No jewels. No rich silks. Not even the bones of men or animals. Nothing hidden deeper beneath the sand. Only the tarnished lamp. 

He climbs back onto his horse and the caravan sets off again. He’s wasted hours here, for absolutely nothing. He sighs, running a hand absently over the metal of the lamp, half tempted to fling it away into the sand for all the trouble he’s gone through because of it. There’s a sudden roar and a cloud of sulfurous smoke, and then a massive red figure emerges from the lamp, a squawking parrot on its shoulder and its eyes flaming. 

The slaves and the drivers are screaming, and Khalil’s horse rears frantically, pawing the air and whinnying. Khalil’s one-handed grip on the reins fails to control her, and the horse flings him onto the sand before bolting off into the wastes. 

The figure rises to tower over Khalil where he lies on his back, unable to do anything more than gasp as it frowns down at him. Then it straightens itself and folds its arms across its chest. 

“What are your wishes, Master?”

* * *

In the past, the morning light has always chased away even the smallest shreds of Aladdin’s darkest dreams. But today, even the brilliant, unclouded sun cannot force him to forget the memory of blood and sand. The scars on his back ache, and when Jasmine accidentally brushed a hand against them this morning, it felt like flames were licking over every line.  _ It hasn’t hurt that badly since...since I was whipped in the first place. _

He can’t get rid of that feeling, or the phantom sensation of shackles on his wrists. He rubs his arms thoughtlessly, trying to push away the chilling thoughts of cold metal pressed against his skin, and Abu chitters restlessly, sensing the wrongness.

“Is something wrong?” Jasmine asks. She’s just returned from a consultation with some of the nobles about her slave laws, and she looks tired.  _ There’s no sense in burdening her with my dreams when she has the real struggles of running the country on her shoulders.  _ “Do you still want to ride with me to the orphanage?”

Another thing Jasmine has worked hard for is ensuring that every single child in Agrabah has a roof over their head and plenty of food every day. She’s turned a small summer palace (small only by the standards of royalty, the place is more massive than anything Aladdin had ever seen before he snuck into the palace to return Jasmine’s bracelet) that sits on the outskirts of the city, into a shelter for children who would otherwise be forced to roam the streets. She makes it a point to visit as often as possible, and she sings songs and tells stories while Aladdin amuses them with sleight-of-hand tricks and the things he’s taught Abu to do.  _ There really isn’t too much other opportunity to keep the skills I learned as a thief sharp when I live here. _ But the children love watching him pull paper flowers out of thin air or when Abu slips small silver coins under their hats without them even noticing he’s there. 

“Of course.” 

Riding with Jasmine is always a pleasure. She seems so free outside the palace walls, as if she’s pretending to be Dalia again. Like the responsibilities and obligations fall away for a few hours. She’s always stopping to talk to the children in the streets, and she buys a wreath of flowers from one barefoot girl and then places it on her head like it’s a crown of gold and diamonds. Her smile is wide and beautiful and she’s radiant, like pure sunlight.  _ She was born to rule. _

When they stop at the gates of the orphanage and the children run out to greet her before she even gets off her horse, he can’t help but smile, and the thought that these children will never have to endure what he has pushes the darkness a little further away.  _ They won’t have to wonder where their next meal will come from, how they’ll get money for a handful of dates or a loaf of stale bread.  _ He stole, the clever hands he inherited from his mother and the natural agility he’d honed as a boy serving him well after he made his way to the city. Some others are...he hesitates to say less fortunate, because there’s nothing fortunate about needing to break the law to survive...but he’s seen the people who have to do things he can’t imagine, and it’s devastating. 

He follows them inside, pausing to show some of the children how he can make a coin disappear from his hand and appear under Abu’s hat. He’s done the same trick a hundred times, but today his wrists feel heavy, and he nearly drops the coin between his fingers.  _ I’m only tired, I slept poorly because of the nightmare. _

By the time he gets inside, Jasmine has taken her instrument down from a shelf and is sitting on the floor with the children clustering around her. She begins plucking the strings, and her voice rises in the haunting melody she begins with each time, the song she sang the first day he met her. 

He turns away. He’s heard Jasmine sing that lullaby a thousand times, but today all he can see is his mother bending over him, brushing his unruly hair from his face as she sings him to sleep. He can feel her hands on his shoulders so vividly. 

He stumbles to his feet, hurrying to the door, ignoring the confused stares from Jasmine and the children. The music has stopped but his mother’s voice still echoes in his head. Her singing fades, and her face is lined with fear now. “Run,” she whispers. And then she’s falling, and he reaches for her hand, he can catch her, he has to. But her fingers slip through his like sand. And it’s not Mama’s eyes looking back at him, it’s Jasmine. He let her fall…He turns away, he can’t bear to see the blood. To watch her die.  _ You let her down. You promised her she could trust you, but how can she trust a slave and a thief? _ And then the face of the man who killed her, who stole his family from him, rises up in front of him, angry and fierce. 

He stumbles, falling against a wall so hard his shoulder aches, and blinks. He has no idea where he is, and he knows he should. He knows every inch of Agrabah. But he has no idea how he got here...wherever here is.

He slides down with his back to the wall, shaking.  _ What’s wrong with me?  _ He’s dreaming in broad daylight.  _ I’ve seen that happen to beggars in the market, old men and women who speak to people no one else can see, who see horrors in the shadows.  _ But now it’s happening to him. 

He stumbles out of the alley, blinking in the brilliant sunlight. Everything is blurring in front of him, he doesn’t know which way to go to get back to the orphanage, back to Jasmine. He leans against the wall, exhausted and confused and frightened. 

“What’s wrong, kid?” He turns around to see a very familiar face emerging from the crowd. Or more accurately, two familiar faces. 

Dalia and the Genie are back again. It’s never certain when they’ll return to the city, they simply stop whenever their travels take them past the port. “It’s good to see you,” he manages to choke out, because it is, for once in his life he’s completely and utterly lost and the last time he was in this much trouble, the Genie helped him get out of it. Granted, he doesn’t have magic anymore, but he is a steady, reassuring presence. 

“I’d say the same, but you look like someone tossed you in a pit full of cobras.” The Genie holds onto his shoulders, staring at his face. 

“I…” He blinks, because he knows it’s the Genie in front of him, but it’s not his face he sees now. The cruel eyes and stern mouth don’t belong to his friend. “Don’t touch me!” He pulls away from the hands clutching his arms, stumbling backward. He has to run, he has to get away...

His head hits hard against the wall behind him, and the whole world goes black. The last thing he sees is the face of the slave master, as it slowly morphs into the twisted stare of Jafar. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Khalil is no fool. He’s heard the tales of magic and genies and wishes. So he knows the rules he must abide by when dealing with the powerful being he’s just summoned. He could wish for anything. For the most fabulous palace and the greatest wealth. For pleasure beyond his wildest dreams. 

But all of that is nothing if he cannot enjoy it in peace of mind. The one thing he wants, the thing he has sworn himself to while bleeding and baking under the desert sun, is to find the slave who escaped him.  _ After I find him, two wishes will be sufficient for me to gain whatever I want.  _

The one thing Khalil has always sought, more than wealth, more than pleasure, is power. And that child defied him and lived. Vengeance will be sweet.

“I wish...to find the boy who escaped me years ago, in this desert.” 

The genie leans in, his flaming eyes seeming to bore into Khalil’s. “Show me his face. In your mind.”

It has been many years, but Khalil could never forget the boy. Those wide brown eyes, the curling black hair, the clever hands.  _ I would have made a small fortune from him. _ And instead, the boy took not only Khalil’s honor and reputation, but the use of his hand, and nearly his life. 

In a whoosh of flame and smoke the genie rears back, eyes burning. Khalil steps back instinctively. He’s angered the genie somehow. But the creature cannot hurt him, it is bound by the laws of its magic. Still, he knows when the be careful. If he didn’t, he would be dead a hundred times over. 

"He is in Agrabah. A pretender prince," the genie growls bitterly. "He is the one who cost me my rank and power. The one who doomed me to remain trapped for endless ages in darkness. When you find him, I will help you punish him. It seems there is much for which Aladdin must pay."

* * *

 

When Aladdin wakes up, it’s to a cool cloth against his forehead, and voices murmuring in the background. His head hurts, but not nearly as badly as the time he fell off a wall. Or the time he misjudged the distance of a jump and slammed into the corner of the roof hard enough to break bones. He starts to sit up, but there’s a hand on his chest as well. 

Above him, Jasmine is slightly blurry, but when he blinks again her face is clear. “Don’t run off on me like that again.” Jasmine’s voice is anything but scolding. She’s worried. He frightened her. “What did you do, steal something from the kitchen and see the cook coming?” Any other day, he would laugh at her forced attempt to lighten the mood with a joke, but he can’t forget what he saw. He can’t forget her dead. Because of him. 

“I’m sorry.” He blinks, the room is shadowy and cool, but very real. None of the dream left behind this time. For now. “I don’t know what happened.” He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “It was just...a memory, I think.” He glances up at her. “Your song, it reminded me of my mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Jasmine whispers. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He sighs. “Ever since that dream last night I can’t stop thinking of her. And Baba.” He rolls over, starting to stand up. “It’s strange. Like the dreams…” He cuts himself off. He can’t tell her about it. She’ll worry more. 

“What about them?”

“They just feel real.” It’s all he can honestly say without sounding like he’s insane. “I...wasn’t dreaming that the Genie and Dalia were here, was I?”

“No. They brought you back here. Some of the children ran after you,” she says. “They told them to bring you back here.” She smiles. “They’re quite worried about you. I think the Genie is pacing a hole in the tiles outside, and Dalia is fussing with every one of those children’s hair.” She glances at him. “I’ll let them in if you feel well enough to see them.”

He nods. Aside from the pain still throbbing in his head, the strange dizziness seems to be gone. He’s not confused about what’s real and what’s a dream now.  _ Maybe I just needed a good knock to the head. _ He’s heard enough people say that about him, although it was mostly about him stealing from their market stalls. He’s fallen and hit his head enough times to know that sometimes that can make the world do strange things, maybe the reverse is true as well. 

The door opens, and the Genie walks in. He may not have his magic anymore, but Aladdin will never be able to think of him as anything else. He hasn’t changed, not really. There’s the same kindliness in the eyes and the same cheerful enthusiasm. But he seems unusually subdued when he sits down beside the bed. 

“How much trouble have you gotten yourself into, kid?” the Genie asks. 

“Jasmine’s banned me from formal negotiations. Apparently jams are not suitable compensation for northern forged swords.” He grins when the Genie slaps a hand to his head. “I’m joking.” 

“Don’t scare me like that again, kid,” the Genie says, and Aladdin knows he’s not talking about terrible negotiation tactics. He shakes his head and leans forward. “What happened in the market?” 

“I don’t know.” He feels better now, but he can’t forget the faces of the world men who have been the worst memories of his life. “It was like a dream. A vivid dream.” 

The Genie frowns, pushing back the sleeves of his robe and running a hand over Aladdin’s forehead, and lowering his voice so that Jasmine, who’s standing by the window, can no longer hear them. “When I saw you in the market, there was what appeared to be a haze of magic around you. I may no longer be in possession of my own, but I can still sense when it is being used. There is a part of me that will always react to strong djinn magic.”

“Djinn...this was because of a genie?” His only thought is that someone must have found the lamp and released Jafar, though how they would ever have gotten it out of the cave he has no idea.  _ But would he be able to act on his own? To torment me, if that wasn’t part of the wish of his master? _ But then again, the Genie went and fell in love, so maybe it’s not impossible. 

As if thinking about Dalia has summoned her, she steps into the room, smiling softly and laying a hand on the Genie’s shoulder. “You haven’t told him?” The Genie shakes his head. “We’re expecting a child. Four months from now, as best I can tell.” 

“That’s wonderful.” The worries about Jafar fade into the background in the face of the happiness on Dalia and the Genie’s faces. Jasmine is hugging Dalia, smiling; but he can tell already that Dalia must have told her when he was asleep.  _ She thinks of Dalia almost as the mother she lost, or an older sister, or both. She must be thrilled.  _

“Well, they’ll have a wonderful big brother.” Dalia says. 

“What?”

“We think of you as a son, you know.” It’s strange, he went from having no family but Abu (and he wasn’t joking when he told Jasmine the monkey was the only familial presence in his life) to having so many people who have welcomed him into their families, and a woman who loves him despite all the reasons she shouldn’t. “We’ll be delighted for you to meet this little one.” She laughs softly. “But please, don’t teach them how to jump off roofs. From the way this one is kicking, they’re going to be trouble enough to chase after already.” 

* * *

 

Khalil’s horse is sweating, stumbling, by the time he reaches Agrabah. It’s dangerous for a known slaver to show his face inside the city, but there are still plenty of dark alleys and unsavory parts of town where he can go unnoticed. And even if there were not, the genie currently sequestered in the lamp on his belt promises that his magic can conceal Khalil’s true face. 

The genie claims to be the former Grand Vizier of Agrabah, and though Khalil never met the man himself, he’s certain this man is what he claimed. It seems that he was on the verge of holding all the power in Agrabah when Aladdin, a street boy, stole another genie’s lamp from him and used it for himself.  _ That comes as no surprise. It seems fate favors the boy. But it cannot help him now. _

Jafar knows little of where Aladdin came from, only that he met the princess when she pretended to be a commoner, stole a bracelet from her, then snuck into the palace to return it, where he was caught. It seems Jafar promised the boy his freedom if he could retrieve a genie’s lamp from the mythical Cave of Wonders, but Aladdin instead double-crossed him, keeping the lamp for himself and using the genie’s power to turn himself into a prince, then tricking Jafar and trapping him, as a genie himself, in this lamp. 

Khalil is certain that few people would know the true identity of an orphaned street child. But since Aladdin used magic to become a prince, and very likely is the one who is the husband of the new Sultan, someone must know something about him.

He strikes up a conversation with a vendor he’s watched use weighted scales to cheat his customers.  _ Dishonest men are the best to deal with. They have something to fear. And I can use it. _ He approaches the man and strikes up a conversation, if force is necessary he will use it, but this man seems the sort to tell him whatever he wants to know, about anyone. He listens to the man complain about the new Sultan, about her policies that are going to ruin ‘honest vendors like myself, sir, she has no notion of what it means to work for a living”. He waits patiently until the man lets drop something about the woman marrying against every tradition and custom.

“It is bad enough that a woman has taken the throne. But to marry a man like that…”

Khalil has no patience left to wait out another long-winded story. “What do you know of this prince?”

“He is no prince,” the man spits. “Only a commoner, like the rest of us. A common  _ thief _ , no less. He stole from me countless times. And has never seen a moment’s punishment for it. Now he lives in luxury, another thing he has simply managed to steal. Except instead of a loaf of bread, he has stolen the hand of the Sultan and her ear as well. I’m sure it’s thanks to our new king that the common thieves are treated with more respect than the honest tradesmen.” 

“Perhaps he will yet see his undoing,” Khalil says, turning away. He needs to seek an audience with the Sultan. 


	4. Chapter 4

Aladdin lets Dalia take his horse back to the palace with Jasmine. He feels more comfortable right now with his feet on solid ground, just in case another dizzy spell comes on, and besides, he wants to walk with the Genie for a while and talk to him. He didn’t want to worry Jasmine by bringing up the Genie’s comment about djinn magic again, but he needs to know what the Genie meant by that. 

_ It’s not possible that it’s Jafar. Is it? _

“You’re certain that it was djinn magic you felt near me?”

“When you’ve lived with it for thousands of years, you never forget what it feels like.” The Genie rubs his hands together. “Hard to describe to a human, but...street magic feels alive. Like a snake charmer’s music or a fortune-teller’s smoke. But genie magic feels metallic. Cold and sharp, like you’ve polished a plate for too long and then made a spark when you touched it.” He frowns. “Always thought it had something to do with living in a brass lamp.” 

“It couldn’t be Jafar, right? You threw his lamp into the Cave of Wonders.” He knows he sounds like a child afraid of stories of monsters, but the vizier nearly killed him so many times he’s sort of stopped keeping track of them. The man haunts his nightmares as much as any other part of his past. 

“Well, the ol’ Cave took a beating thanks to you and Abu. Not sure it would still have been able to open and accept any genie.” 

“But you still threw it out into the desert. No one travels the wastes except the thieves who prey on caravans and...and the slavers.” He stops.  _ No, that’s not possible.  _ There’s no way that man is still alive. He watched half a mountain fall on top of him and his men. 

“What’s wrong now, kid?”

“I think I’m just worrying too much.” But is there really such a thing as worrying too much when clearly somehow he’s being affected by a genie’s magic, and it seems to be bringing back the dreams of the past?

He turns to say something more to the Genie and then stops, staring past the man to a small, cluttered alleyway that leads off into the part of town he used to call home. The face of the man standing in the end of it, about to step out into the bustle of the market street, is unmistakable. 

It must be a bad dream. Again. He’ll wake up any second. He blinks, but the man is still there. Until he steps into the street and vanishes in the crowd.

He’s not aware the Genie is watching him until the man steps in front of him, putting his hands on Aladdin’s shoulders. “What was it?”

“It was him.”

“Who?”

“The man who killed my family.”  Aladdin swallows hard. He’s told the Genie bits of his past, but never the whole story. “He’s the one who attacked the village I grew up in. We were just farmers and shepherds, we couldn’t fight back against what seemed like an army. He killed anyone who tried to resist him, and then took the rest to sell as slaves.” He feels like he can’t stand up anymore. This can’t be happening. “My parents knew it was pointless to try to fight. But they refused to let themselves and me be sold off like cattle either. So they tried to escape.” He bites his lip and closes his eyes, wishing the images of stone and sand and blood in the moonlight would disappear. “My mother fell while we were climbing through the mountains, my father went back for her. That man killed them both, and I only escaped because the side of the mountain started to collapse. I thought it buried all of them forever.” The Genie frowns. “And yes. I’m certain I saw him. I know that it’s probably a little hard to believe after everything that’s happened today, but I know it was him.” 

“I don’t doubt you kid.” The Genie rests a hand on his shoulder. “We need to get back to the palace. If that man really is still alive, he can be thrown in the dungeon if he’s still selling slaves here.” 

_ It’s going to be alright. He’s right. Because of Jasmine’s new laws, that man can’t touch me.  _ He follows the Genie through the streets, feeling like there are eyes on him everywhere. There’s no sign of the man he saw in the throngs of people, but he feels like every face in the crowd is his. 

Jasmine is still in the entry, although there’s no sign of Dalia. She turns toward him, and the second she sees him her face goes white.  _ Do I look that terrible?  _ “Aladdin?”

“Jasmine, there’s something important I need to tell you.” He swallows. The Genie places an arm around his shoulders, warm and comforting. “In the market, I saw…” He shakes his head.  _ Why should she believe me? After the way I acted earlier… _

“What did you see?”

“I…”

The door opens, and Hakim steps in. “My Sultan.” He bows.

“Hakim, later. Please.” Jasmine turns to him. “We have important business to discuss.” She glances at Aladdin. “Tell me. Please.” 

Hakim bows even lower. “I’m afraid it’s urgent. There is a man insisting on an audience.” 

“Tell him I will see him shortly.” 

“He claims to be an ambassador. From Kiribal.”  _ No. _ Quite a few of the men in the slaver’s army had been wearing pieces of the uniforms of the Kiribal army. And the leader had spoken to them with an accent that now that Aladdin has lived in Agrabah long enough, he can place as Kiribali.  _ The first time I heard the traders in the marketplace, I hid. I thought it was him and his men. _ “He says that keeping him waiting will be seen as a grave insult and that Kiribal will not stand to be treated this way by a woman.”

“I am the Sultan of Agrabah. Whether I am a woman or not is of no consequence to that, and should be no concern of his.” Jasmine frowns. 

“He says the matter concerns your husband, and that he requests to see both of you.” Jasmine glances at Aladdin, and he shudders.  _ This is getting worse and worse. _

“We should go,” he chokes out.  _ When I tell her who he is, she’ll have him thrown in the dungeon. He’s not an ambassador, he’s a criminal. _ He has nothing to fear from the man waiting in the throne room. So why can’t he stop shaking?

* * *

Jasmine doesn’t like the look of the man waiting for her. His bow, while perfectly proper, carries no real honor toward her, and his dust-stained clothes are nowhere near the finery she would have expected of an ambassador. But it’s true that Kiribal is known for its warriors and conquests. Perhaps they prefer their people to wear more practical clothing.  _ They would rather buy swords than finery. _ Personally, she would rather see that money helping their subjects, as she has been trying to do.

“Ambassador.” She bows slightly, as fits her rank. Aladdin bows as well, more deeply, and she sees  him wince when he straightens himself, as if he’s in pain.  _ I should have spoken to him. I should have told Hakim to insist this man wait.  _ She finds it hard sometimes to balance the demands of statecraft and marriage.  _ He is clearly troubled. But he insisted we come. _

“He’s lying.” Aladdin’s voice is painfully loud in the chamber. This is by custom not his place to speak, he is required to ask permission. But Jasmine waves her hand for him to continue. “I know him.” Aladdin’s voice is shaking slightly, and he’s even paler than he was when he entered the palace. “He is no ambassador.” 

“I’m afraid he’s right. I did come to you under somewhat false pretenses. My name is Khalil, and I am simply a trader of Kiribal. But is it not true that every man is an ambassador of his country?”He shrugs. “I have an important matter to discuss with you, concerning this man.” He points to Aladdin. _ This wouldn’t be the first time some merchant has come to me demanding restitution for a theft from Aladdin’s days on the streets.  _ She will pay him back a dozen times over and send him on his way. 

“What restitution have you come for?” She asks wearily. 

“Him.” Khalil points again to Aladdin. 

“He stole from you?”

“In a manner of speaking. I owned that boy. Fifteen years ago, he escaped me. And I have come to collect what is mine.” Jasmine gasps. She knows she should have more control of herself, in front of his unknown foreigner, but the thought that  _ this _ is the man who left Aladdin with those horrible scars, the unthinkable loss of his family, the nightmares she’s witnessed…Beside her, Rajah snarls, clearly feeling the tension coming from her, and Abu shrieks and chitters. 

“You’re mistaken. You cannot own a free citizen of Agrabah.” When Aladdin became her husband, his citizenship was firmly established. She hopes that this man does not intend to dispute the location of Aladdin’s childhood home, it’s possible that it was at the time a part of Sherebad. The borders shifted so much during that time.  _ After my mother died, there was dispute over the lands that the marriage transferred to Agrabah. Her brother, the Sultan of Sherebad, wished them returned. My father did not want to part with one of the few pieces of her he had left, but in the end he honored his brother-in-law’s wish. _ Depending on exactly when Aladdin was taken from his home, she may not be able to claim he was one of Agrabah’s subjects.  _ Sherebad is still a free nation, but this would make things more complicated. _

"I'm afraid, Sultan, he belongs to  _ me. _ " Khalil's voice is sharp under the guise of honoring Agrabah's ruler. 

"No man may own another in my kingdom. The law forbids it."

"But not the law of my land. Would you go to war with us, Sultan? Over a common slave boy?" His lips twist into a sneer. “Is he worth your armies’ blood?”

Jasmine is about to insist that this is no cause for war, that no ruler will condone the actions of someone who treats people so cruelly, not even one of his citizens. But the truth is that she cannot afford to assume. Kiribal may indeed see this as an affront.  _ They supply their armies with the children they steal from their villages, from their homes. _

But that does not mean she will turn her back and refuse to defend the very things she holds most dear, the right of her people to be free and the love she has for the man beside her. “My husband is exactly the kind of person my armies have sworn their lives to defend. They would spill their blood for the least orphan on the streets, to defend their freedom. While one slave is in chains, no one is free in this country, and that is what I and my people believe.” 

The look in Khalil’s eyes says he is not leaving without his prize.  _ He’s insane. A man driven by hatred who will cut down anyone who stands in his way.  _ “I gave you the chance to be reasonable, Sultan. But you have left me no choice.” Jasmine forces back the flinch when she feels cold steel against her throat. An army has materialized from nowhere.

_ What is happening? _ She tilts her head slightly, to look down at Khalil, and sees that he has pulled back the fold of his cloak to reveal a tarnished lamp hanging from his belt. The laugh that echoes through the room, that she’s heard in this same place far too many times, tells her everything she needed to know. Somehow, this man has found Jafar’s lamp. 

“So, princess, we meet again.” Jafar slides into her line of vision. He looks halfway between genie and human, an aura of magic concealing his legs below the knees, his eyes flickering with red flame. On his shoulder, Iago croaks ingratiatingly.

“Meet again, meet again.” Rajah snarls again, but the sound is choked off, as if someone has muzzled the tiger.  _ Please, don’t let them kill him. _

“Well. So your father gave you the kingdom after all,” Jafar says, lifting her hand and twisting the Sultan’s ring around her finger. 

“And you and your friend are no longer welcome in my kingdom.” She’s not going to let the sword at her throat intimidate her. She glances toward the doors along the hall where forty armed guards wait for just such occasions. 

“The guards?” Jafar laughs. “You forget, I know this place and its customs as well as you. The doors are sealed. No one is coming to help you.” She can hear faint pounding against the wood, but they will never be able to break through the magic that has cut this room off from the rest of the world. 

“Leave her.” Khalil’s voice snaps like the crack of a whip. “She is no concern of mine.” Jafar turns away, eyes flaming, and moves toward Aladdin. Jasmine can’t turn her head far enough to see what is happening, but she can hear Aladdin’s labored, panicked breathing. 

“So the street rat is still pretending he’s royalty.” Jafar laughs. “It seems you’ve stolen everything you ever had in life. Even your freedom.” 

“N-no.” Aladdin’s voice is trembling slightly. “It was Khalil and his men who stole it from me.”

“I’m afraid now that matters exactly nothing to anyone.” Jafar laughs, and then Jasmine hears the rattle of chains. She twists her head against the sharp cold metal at her throat, feeling the skin break and hot blood run down her neck. Aladdin is standing head bowed, wrists shackled with heavy iron bands, and another around his neck. A chain connects all three, and hangs down to the floor. He’s barefoot, and his shirt is gone, revealing the old scars lining his back. 

“He is all yours.” Jafar turns to Khalil, who steps forward and yanks the chain so hard Aladdin stumbles. 

“Stop it!” She shouts. Aladdin looks up from the ground for a moment to meet her eyes, and the pain and humiliation in them tears at her heart. His eyes flick back to his feet, and his head droops even lower.  _ He never wanted me to see him like this. _ “They can’t do this.” She would fight her way barehanded through these soldiers to save him. “I won’t let them take you away.” 

“No. I’ll go with him.” Aladdin’s voice is hollow, but she can see the pained determination in his eyes. “I can’t watch you die.” 

“Smart boy.” Khalil yanks the chain again, and then walks out the doors. Jafar drifts after him, looking back once at Jasmine with such vicious triumph she wants to be sick. 

She has no idea how long she stands there frozen with the blade at her neck, but suddenly, the soldiers vanish as abruptly as they appeared.  _ Jafar must have conjured them, and now Khalil has no further need of them.  _ He must have left the city by now. She kneels beside Rajah and Abu, both lying on the floor of the chamber. The tiger’s muzzle and paws, and the monkey’s whole body, are bound with thick black cord. She begins untying the knots with shaking fingers. 

The doors open, and the guards flood in. “My Sultan,” Hakim says, out of breath, his face streaked with sweat. “Are you hurt?”

“He took Aladdin.” Jasmine stands up and wheels around to the doors, and hears several guards gasp when they see the blood on her neck. She’d nearly forgotten about it. “And I’m going to get him back.” 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The shackles around Aladdin’s wrists and neck are far too tight and hot to be ordinary metal. The edges cut into his skin every time Khalil yanks him forward faster, and there are faint trails of blood running down his hands from his wrists now. 

He can’t look up, even when he hears the gasps and whispers from the people in the streets. He focuses on the small clouds of dust raised by his feet.  _ Street rat was bad enough. Now they’ll call me a slave.  _ How is anyone ever going to respect him again, when they’ve seen him paraded through the streets like an animal, like he’s lower than even the most humble palace servant? He’s not even a person anymore, he’s this man’s property, and Khalil is making sure everyone sees it. 

He can’t bring himself to look at the lamp hanging from Khalil’s belt.  _ Whatever is coming will be very, very bad. _ Khalil alone certainly has a score to settle. But the last thing Jafar told him before being sucked down into that lamp was that he wouldn’t forget what Aladdin had done to him. 

He’s sure that whatever Khalil already had in mind, Jafar is willing to add to a thousand times over. And now he has magic at his disposal. 

When Khalil reaches the city gate, he unties a horse tethered to a ring in the wall and climbs on, kicking its sides to force it into a trot. Aladdin has to run to keep up, stumbling through the hot sand that scorches his bare feet, terrified of falling and being dragged behind the horse. He’s seen Khalil do that to one of the slaves who tried to kill him. When it was over, the man’s skin had been all but torn away by the sand, his whole body raw and bloodied. He died in the night two days later, in agony.

He’s exhausted, thirsty, and his heart is pounding. He can’t keep this up much longer. Khalil’s horse scrambles down a dune, and Aladdin’s legs finally give out, sending him rolling and sliding down, trying to avoid the thudding hooves. Khalil yanks the chain again, hard, stopping his descent and opening raw cuts on his neck and wrists that spill fresh blood into the sand. 

He manages to struggle to his feet before the horse pulls him forward, and below them, he can see a small encampment, and the dusty shapes that he knows all too well. He used to be one of them. _ And now I am again. _

* * *

 

“He’s left the city long ago, and it’s impossible to track him in the desert. I’m sorry, Sultan.” Hakim bows low, his eyes sad.

Jasmine stands up, pushing aside the healer who has been stanching her neck wound with a concoction of herbs. “I cannot accept that. He hasn’t vanished from the face of the earth. We can’t leave him with that man.”

“I understand. I want nothing more than to bring him back here and slaughter every man who dared to defy you and hang their heads on the gate.” Hakim is not normally a man given to wanton anger, but he has always felt like an uncle to Jasmine, and he is one of the few who gave her his full and undivided support as the new Sultan. 

“Then keep searching.” She leaves the room when Hakim does, and stops in the doorway. The Genie and Dalia are standing in the hallway. Dalia is pale, one hand clutching her husband’s tunic, and the Genie’s face is stormy, anger doing a poor job of concealing the grief-stricken expression in his eyes. 

Jasmine can’t bring herself to look at either of them. Or the man standing beside them.  _ I’ve failed, father. You gave me this kingdom and I cannot even protect one of its people. _ She 

“Baba, what am I going to do?” She doesn’t feel like a powerful sultan. She feels like the heartbroken child who wailed into her father’s chest when Hakim came and told her that her mother was dead. 

Her father sits down beside her slowly. His back and legs have been giving him pain as of late, and it is harder for him to move around the palace. He spends much of his time in the warmth of the sun on the terraces now; the heat seems to soothe the constant ache. 

Rajah licks her cheek, swiping away a trail of salty tears. She reaches for the tiger, twisting her fingers into his thick fur. For once, Abu is no longer riding on his back.  _ Where has he gone? _ She hasn’t seen the little monkey since the disaster in the throne room. 

“I’m going to find him and bring him home.” She has to. She promised to protect everyone in this kingdom when she became Sultan, and she promised to protect Aladdin when she became his wife. 

“And what do you suggest we do? He has the most powerful genie in the universe,” Dalia says. Her voice is trembling.  _ Jafar nearly killed her before we defeated him the last time. And now he has even more power. _

“Dalia’s right.” The Genie flicks his fingers. “I can’t even make sparks anymore.” He leans against the door, his normal cheerful enthusiasm dulled, his smile gone and his eyes no longer gleaming with joy and the magic that not even becoming human could take away from him. He stares down at his hands, rubbing his wrists like he expects to feel the bracelets that bound him to the lamp. “I can’t do a single thing to help the kid. I wish he’d never wished me out, that he’d kept that last wish the way he said he was going to. I could have…”

“But he did.” Jasmine learned a long time ago that dwelling on the things that can’t be changed is a sure way to accomplish nothing and become bitter.  _ What can we do something about? _ They can’t put the Genie back in his lamp.

_ The lamp. _

“I think I know how to save him.“

* * *

 

_ I’ve been waiting for this for fifteen years.  _ Khalil secures the boy’s chain to the limb of a stunted, twisted tree. The boy’s toes barely touch the ground, and every muscle in his shoulders and back is tense and strained. His arms are already shaking. 

“Now you see what happens to those who defy me.” Khalil stalks back and forth, his whip coiled in his hand. Aladdin shudders. “This boy thought he could escape. Thought he had killed me, I am sure.” He snaps the whip into the air. “Unfortunately for him, he failed.” 

The dusty, weary slaves flinch back at the sight of the whip. More than one of them have felt it. Khalil pulls his arm back and brings the lash down on the boy’s back, across the old scars still visible there. Again and again, until welts become gashes, until blood trails down his back and stains the ground below him, until Khalil himself is panting, his arm aching. 

The boy is stubborn. He bites his lip, refusing to scream or beg, but tears cut narrow lines through the grime on his face. Khalil frowns.  _ He will break. Sooner or later. I will see him beg for mercy.  _

Beside him, Jafar is standing and watching, arms crossed and frowning. Khalil can sense the genie’s disapproval. He steps back, coiling the bloodied lash and frowning. “Done so soon?” Jafar asks. 

“Not quite. I’ll let him feel the sun for a bit.”

“It seems your methods are somewhat ineffective.” Jafar glances down at the drops of blood staining the sand beneath Khalil’s hands. “Allow me.” Khalil frowns, but allows the genie to take the whip from his hands.  _ He isn’t even demanding I use a wish.  _ He can’t believe his good fortune, finding a genie who wants Aladdin to suffer as much as he does. 

Jafar runs the whip through his hands, the blood smearing his skin. There’s a bright crackle along the length of it, like heat lightning across the desert sky. The blood seems to catch fire, burning with a blue flame that continues to flicker when Jafar hands the whip back to Khalil. He lifts it and cracks it once, and the flickering brightness is almost blinding now.  _ This should speed things up. _

Jafar leans in toward the boy dangling from the tree. “You should have listened to me when you had the chance.” his hands brush the boy’s sides, and Aladdin gasps, it looks like the same flickering sparks are passing from the genie’s hands to his body. “And yet, you chose to defy me, to make a name for yourself. I would have made you a prince had you brought me what I wanted.”

“No. You would have killed me.” Aladdin spits, there’s blood from his bitten lip staining the sand.

“Perhaps. But it would have been swift and merciful. Not as this will be.” He steps back, and Khalil raises his whip.  _ Mercy is too good for someone like this. _ All his life, Aladdin has flagrantly broken the law, and instead of being punished, he’s lived as a king in the palace.  _ This is only the justice he deserves.  _

This time, when the whip slashes through the blood and torn skin, there’s a sizzling sound like a street vendor frying meat. And above that, there’s a strangled cry of pain.  _ Perfect. _ Each time the whip lashes him again, Aladdin gasps out a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. Blood is running down his arms now, all his weight is on his wrists. He’s shaking uncontrollably, and his breaths are choked and raspy.

Khalil finally stops. He coils the whip against his leg, then walks up to the boy dangling from the branch. He lifts his chin, feeling the dampness of the tears that have run down his face. Aladdin’s eyes are closed, his lip bitten through and bloody. He blinks, looking at Khalil through eyes that are glassy with pain and tears. 

“This can end. When you ask me to stop.” He lifts the whip and uncoils it again, running a hand along it. The flickering sparks leap up from the leather, and Aladdin flinches, turning his head aside. “I want to hear it from you. Or else…” He cracks the whip, wrapping it around the boy’s side so that it cuts a deep gash along his ribs. The skin sizzles and smokes, and Aladdin screams, flinching away from the burning lash. “Ask me to stop.”

The boy shakes his head, spitting blood onto the ground.  _ So proud. He’s convinced himself he really is a prince. Someone had to remind him of his place.  _ He hears Jafar slide up beside him. The genie is taking quite an interest in the proceedings. His fingers twitch, and Khalil watches the whip begin to glow again, then ripple as sharp thorns grow out of it to join the flickers of light. 

He pulls his arm back, then slashes down across the boy’s chest, and the scream that tears out of his throat is inhuman. In between the sobbing breaths that follow, he can hear a softly panted word. He leans in, to catch the sound rasping through the dry, raw throat. 

“Please.” Aladdin coughs, then trembles violently. “Please.” He gasps. “Stop.” Khalil smiles. 

“Louder. So they can hear you.” The slaves behind him are watching in stunned, horrified silence. 

“Please. Stop.” Aladdin’s head sinks back to his chest, exhausted from even such a simple thing. But when the whip tears through his chest again, he screams, a shocked, betrayed sound, and looks at Khalil with wide eyes. “Why?”

“The pleas of a slave mean nothing to me.” Khalil laughs, and Jafar rubs his hands, nodding approvingly, smiling. 

Aladdin’s head droops even lower, and a wrenching sob shakes his body.  _ Perfect. _ The boy has humiliated himself for nothing.  _ Now he will remember what he is. Just a beast of burden. A dumb creature, who may as well have no voice because no one will ever listen to him. _

There is no other sound in the desert but the crack of the whip,the sobbing breaths, and the deep laugh of the genie beside him, until Khalil finally tires and lowers the lash to the sand. The bloodied, broken boy is hanging limply, his body torn and trembling, his spirit broken. Khalil turns to the cowering slaves huddled behind him. 

“You will never escape me. So do not try.” 


	6. Chapter 6

“Without the lamp, he can’t hope to stand against us.” Jasmine paces the healers’ chamber, unable to sit still. Her thoughts are racing and her feet are attempting to keep up.

“So we need to get it away from him,” Dalia says. 

“I think I know how.” Aladdin told her the whole story of how he managed to acquire the Genie’s lamp, how Jafar had even taken it from him, but Abu snatched it back before the cave collapsed.  _ He must still be somewhere in the palace. _ “Abu could get close enough to him to steal it without being seen.”

“But to steal the lamp, you must find Khalil first.” Dalia reminds her. “There are miles of wasteland. Hakim said it’s impossible to follow his footprints. He and his caravan could be in  Skånland before we find even a trace of him.”

“The moment he exited the throne room, Jafar returned to his lamp,” The Genie says. “I cannot follow his magic any further than that.” He sighs. 

“Actually, we can find him.” Jasmine turns to look at Rajah curled beside her chair. “The tigers of Sherebad are known for being intelligent trackers. The royal guard train them to track down criminals. Given as much as a shred of a would-be assassin’s clothing, they can follow a man anywhere in the kingdom.” 

“So Rajah can follow him?” The Genie asks. 

“I hope so. He was trained to protect me, not to track people, but his parents were the two best guards’ tigers in Sherebad.” She walks to the door. “It’s the only chance we have.” 

She thinks she knows where Abu might be. It’s where she would be if she didn’t have to try and stay strong and plan a rescue. Her room’s door is shut tight, but that means nothing when it comes to the clever little monkey. She walks inside, looking all around, turning her eyes quickly away from the flower resting on her pillow; she always finds one there every evening.  _ He’s so kind. And now he’s been led away in chains by a monster.  _

She glances into the corner at the hanging basket covered with a pale blue curtain, where Abu sleeps. It’s swaying slightly, and she stands on tiptoe and pushes back the curtain. At first all she can see is Aladdin’s old red vest, wadded up in the corner. But the closer she looks, the material seems to be rising and falling. She pulls back a corner to see Abu huddled underneath, clutching the cloth to himself. When she moves it, he makes a desperate screeching sound and pulls against her grip. 

“Come  _ on _ , Abu, we need your help.” The monkey stays stubbornly silent in his basket, pulling the vest over his head and making tiny sad chirping sounds. Jasmine has heard monkeys make this sound before. Once, a kingdom brought several as tribute, and when one was removed from its cage to be shown to the Sultan, the others immediately began to reach through the bars and chitter miserably.  _ They wanted to be together. _

“I need you to come with me. It’s the only way to get him back.” Jasmine says softly. “I miss him too. But we can’t give up. We can’t.” 

Slowly, Abu uncurls from his corner, then scrambles onto Jasmine’s shoulder, dropping the vest. “Bring that with us,” Jasmine says softly, and the monkey reaches back inside, clutching the worn cloth in both tiny hands as Jasmine closes the door.

* * *

The only shadows on the ground are cast by the flock of vultures circling overhead. Aladdin pants desperately, lips cracked and swollen from lack of water, his back and chest on fire from the lashings. His arm aches with every breath, pinned under a boulder roughly the same size as Abu when he was transformed into an elephant. Or at least that’s what it felt like when Jafar lifted it into the air with tendrils of magic and then dropped it on his outstretched arm.

Beside him, Khalil sits cross-legged in the sand, drinking from a flask of water. Each swallow is painfully loud, and Aladdin can hear the faint plop of stray droplets running down the man’s beard and falling to the sand. 

Khalil stands up, walking over to stand above him, Jafar floating next to him and smiling wickedly. For a moment, Khalil’s shadow blocks out the unrelenting sunlight, and a single drop of water falls from his beard onto Aladdin’s parched lips, He licks greedily at it with a swollen, dry tongue, but the water does nothing to quench his thirst. If anything, it only makes it that much worse. 

“This is where we part our ways, I’m afraid,” Khalil says. “I would love to stay and watch you die, slowly, begging for relief, begging me to end this mercifully with a dagger, but unfortunately, I have business to attend to. So it seems you will die alone, just as you left me to do all those years ago.” 

He turns away, and the sunlight beating down again is so bright Aladdin closes his eyes. He doesn’t bother to open them again, just listens to the footsteps fading away in the ever-shifting sand, and Jafar’s vicious laugh. 

* * *

Jasmine squints ahead. The blinding sunlight and the waves of heat rising from the sand make it nearly impossible to see anything ahead of them. Beside her, the Genie’s horse matches her own’s steps, thud for thud against the sliding sand. Hakim and a dozen guards are riding several paces behind. They will surround the slavers and stop them after Jasmine retrieves the lamp.  _ Whether it begins a war or not, I cannot allow him to hurt any more innocents. _

Rajah is padding ahead of them, mouth wide and panting, head lifted to scent the air. On his back, Abu is holding the vest, one tiny paw shading his eyes as he looks out across the wastes. 

Suddenly, Rajah halts, a low snarl rumbling in his chest. Jasmine slides off her horse, scrambling up the slope of the dune the tiger has just climbed. Below them is a shallow valley, where water flows in the spring storms. A few small, twisted trees are growing among the rocks. The valley is empty, but there are clear signs of someone having recently camped here.

Rajah bounds down the slope, and Jasmine slides after him. He’s headed for one of the trees, a tree with several dark patches underneath it. He sniffs at the ground and whines.

Jasmine kneels beside the dark splotches.  _ Blood. _ She swallows hard, gently touching a finger against the darkened sand. It’s still damp.  _ He can’t have been gone long. The blood would have dried in this heat.  _

Rajah sniffs the blood again, and then prowls around the edges of the ravine, sniffing the air and then sitting back and yowling mournfully. He sounds dejected, and Jasmine feels the same.  _ Has he lost the trail? _

“It’s possible he was transported by djinn magic,” the Genie says quietly. “The ground is disturbed in the way that would leave behind its mark.” His fingers trace concentric circles in the rippled sand. “There is a residue of magic in the ground itself.”

“So from here Rajah won’t be able to track him?” Jasmine feels like crumbling into so much sand herself. Aladdin is clearly badly wounded, lost somewhere here in the desert, and they’ve lost their only hope of finding him.

“Maybe we can’t track him anymore, but we might not have to.” Hakim holds up a scrap of a shawl that was discarded along the rocky ravine. “Because this should lead us directly to Khalil’s caravan, and the lamp.” 

* * *

Nothing hurts quite so much anymore. The unbearable pain has given way to a faint throbbing, and the scorching heat seems distant now. Aladdin can feel the sand drifting up around him, covering him like a blanket. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep.

But there are people nearby, he can hear them moving. And then someone places a hand on his cheek, and he looks up to see a familiar face. “Mama?” he whispers. Her hand is cool, brushing his hair away from his face. “Baba?” Baba is standing there, holding out a flask of water. He tries to raise his hand to take it, but his arm is trapped, still underneath that giant rock. 

He tries to free himself, but tugging at his arm only causes pain to explode along it, all the way to his shoulder. His throat is too raw for any more screams, the only thing that manages to slip out is a choked whimper.

Mama and Baba step backward. “No, please, don’t leave me.” He can’t die alone here. He doesn’t want to be alone.

And now Mama is back, her hands shaking as she runs them gently over his battered body, tears splashing onto his skin. And Baba’s hands are wrapped around his free one, and he’s whispering. “Open your eyes, kid, come on. Don’t do this to me, son.” But that doesn’t sound like Baba’s voice...


	7. Chapter 7

Jasmine slips into the crowd of slaves, Abu tucked safely beneath her shawl. Behind the last dune, the Genie and Hakim are waiting with the rest of the guards, for her signal that the lamp is hers and Khalil is vulnerable. 

She was afraid it might be difficult to find her way into the group, even with the drab, shabby clothes she purchased from a shoddy vendor in Agrabah hiding her true identity. But it seems the slaver’s men are more interested in keeping the slaves they have from wandering away, than in watching for a newcomer to appear. All it took was riding ahead of the shuffling group, slipping down a ridge into the shadows of a rocky outcropping, then pretending to stumble and fall as the caravan passed. One of the guards yanked her to her feet and shoved her into the group, cracking a whip menacingly. “Next time, I won’t care if you’re one of the pretty ones,” he’d snarled, in Kiribali, but Jasmine has known that language since she was eight. 

She slowly makes her way through the crowd. Most of the slaves barely even look at her. Their eyes are on the ground, as they shuffle along as quickly as they can. She’s grateful the guards didn’t notice her lack of shackles, but she can see that several of the younger women are unchained. Possibly to avoid scarring them, so they will sell better for the harems or the brothels. She swallows the sick feeling at remembering the guard calling her a pretty one.  _ That’s what he meant _ .

Khalil is visible in the lead, his horse trotting along at the head of the group. Jasmine taps Abu’s shoulder, and the monkey pokes his head out. “Go get it,” she says softly, nodding to where Khalil is riding. Abu squeals softly, then bounds out of her arms and across the sand toward the horse. She watches him grab the saddle girth, swinging from it for a moment before he scrambles up the side, reaching carefully into Khalil’s belt. 

And then the man turns, looking straight at Abu. The monkey chitters guiltily, and then screeches as Khalil grabs him and throws him to the ground. But Jasmine sees the glitter as his tail catches the lamp and pulls it with him. He leaps to his feet, bounding into the crowd to Jasmine. The guards turn and chase after him, but it’s already too late. 

She pulls the vest from her shawl as well and throws it into the air, the red vivid against the pale sand and the washed out blue of the hot sky. And then she hears the thunder of hooves and watches with a smile as Hakim’s men surround the slavers. Khalil shouts angrily, but he knows better than to resist. His men are outclassed and outnumbered. Hakim himself shoves the man to his knees and binds his hands behind him with a set of his own shackles, taken from one of the slaves the Genie is busily freeing with the keys he’s taken from one of the guards. 

“Where is he?” Jasmine asks. Khalil only laughs. Hakim bends down, lifting the man’s chin with the tip of his sword. 

“Answer your sultan, you miserable worm.” 

“I am not one of her subjects, to be…” The man doesn’t get anything more out. Hakim has swung a massive fist and slammed it into the man’s cheek. Khalil crumples to the ground, knocked out.

“I’m sorry, Sultan. I became a bit...overzealous.”

“We don’t need him.” Jasmine takes a deep breath, then pulls out the lamp. “We have a genie.”

“You can _ not _ be serious.” Hakim lays a hand on her shoulder. “That’s  _ Jafar. _ ”

“He’s also a genie bound to serve whoever holds the lamp.” Jasmine doesn’t bother to disguise the shivers running through her at the thought of voluntarily calling up that man, and asking him for help. “We’re going to use him to undo what damage he’s done.” 

She rubs the lamp, and tries not to flinch at the explosion of light and the smell of sulfur in the air. “What…” Jafar booms out, then stops, spinning around and leaning down to stare at Jasmine with those fiery eyes. “You.”

“Yes.” She tries not to let her voice tremble. This time, she is the one in control. 

“How dare you?” His voice booms and shakes the ground, and she hears her horse whinnying and stamping, but she has nothing to fear from him.  _ He can’t hurt me. Now more than ever.  _

“You must honor the wishes of whoever holds the lamp. You are bound to obey me. I wish for you to show me where Khalil took Aladdin.”

Jafar’s anger is evident. She’s seen it so often in the palace, that she knows when he’s deadly furious. But he cannot disobey her. The sand begins to shift, and a narrow, wavering line rises in it, leading east, out into the wastes.  

She doesn’t dare ask for anything more, risk having her requests twisted by the angry genie. Instead, she ties the lamp to her belt and mounts her horse, following the shifting, undulating line through the sand. 

It feels like forever that she and the Genie and Hakim continue to ride, following the trail across the dunes, deeper into the wastes.  _ What if this is a trick? What if he’s leading us on the most convoluted path he could create?  _ They could ride until they themselves drop dead of thirst and still never reach Aladdin. She stops her horse and slides from the saddle, the heat is becoming unbearable and they need to rest. She takes a small, careful drink from the water skin attached to her saddle, then pours some into her hand for Rajah and her horse. Abu drinks from the bottle itself, his clever little fingers opening and closing it. 

And then she sees the vultures. Circling low in the sky, swooping down to almost touch the ground. There’s something there they want, but that they don’t quite want to approach yet. She climbs back into the saddle and nudges her horse into a faster pace, and the others follow. 

In front of them, the ground rises into the stony foothills of the range of mountains that runs down the border of the Wastes and then curves toward the north, forming much of Agrahbah’s eastern and northern borders. Here, the peaks are low and crumbling, worn by the ages of sandstorms. Several heaps of crumbled rock have slid down to the bottom, massive chunks of stone lying half-buried in the sand in all directions.

Abu begins to shriek, then leaps off Rajah’s back and bounds across the sand, stopping beside something huddled against a very large stone. Jasmine slides off her horse and runs to follow him, and drops to her knees beside a bloodied and all too still Aladdin. 

_ No, no, no. _ He can’t be dead. She rests her hand hesitantly against the side of his neck, and feels the faintest flutter of a heartbeat, and now that her own heart has stopped pounding in her ears she can hear the whistle of shallow breaths through dry lips.

She starts to pull him toward her, and a pained groan slips out, and it feels like something is stopping her from moving him. She looks closer, and realizes that the massive stone he’s lying beside is actually lying on top of his arm. The Genie and Hakim are standing over her now, both of them staring in grief-stricken horror. 

“His arm,” She whispers, and they nod. With Hakim’s help, the Genie lifts the stone aside carefully, grimacing at the sight of the bloody, mangled arm.  _ This is his son bleeding and dying in the desert.  _ She knows exactly how close the two of them are, has seen how often the Genie has been a reassuring, mentoring presence, especially during those difficult first months when Aladdin was trying to adjust to life as royalty.  _ He has always been there for him, always helped and supported him. And now, he’s doing as much as he can to protect him.  _

She pulls Aladdin against her, heedless of the blood that stains her clothing. “Wake up, please.” But his eyes stay stubbornly closed, faint, shaking breaths slipping past the cracked lips. He’s alive, but only barely. 

“Come on, kid, open those eyes,” the Genie says softly, worriedly, a calloused hand smoothing back the tangled, sweat-stiff hair. Aladdin leans into the touch, but only manages a soft choked whimper. 

His back is torn and bloodied, the edges of the wounds blackened as if they’ve been burned.  _ What did this to him? _ She’s never heard of a whipping leaving marks like this. His chest is crossed with several more vicious slashes as well. 

She drips water from her flask into the corner of his mouth, moistening the cracked lips. Everyone who lives in Agrabah knows how to treat a victim of the desert heat, it is far too common an affliction. She can’t bear to leave Aladdin’s side, and neither can the Genie, but she asks Hakim to bring her the small bottle tucked into her saddlebag. Water alone is not sufficient to return a person in this condition to health, but anyone who intends to journey into the Wastes carries with them these concoctions made by healers and can help restore a person even on the brink of death. 

She alternates sips from her water bottle with drops from the smaller vial, and eventually Aladdin’s eyes flutter open, and he blinks up at her and Genie with the most innocent, confused expression in his eyes. 

“It is you?” He whispers raspily. “Not dreaming?”

“No, you’re not. We found you, and we’re going to take you home.” 

* * *

Propped in front of the Genie, on his horse, Aladdin is shivering violently. He has both Hakim and the Genie’s cloaks wrapped around his bare shoulders to ward off the chill of the desert night, but the Genie can feel heat rippling off his body through his arms as he holds the kid against him. It’s not the cold night that’s making him shake like this.

They’d traveled so far into the desert in search of him that night fell before they made their way even halfway home to Agrabah. The horses are tired, Abu is sleeping curled up in front of Aladdin and clutching the horse’s mane in his small fingers, and Jasmine’s head is nodding as she rides beside him, although she keeps startling alert and then glancing at Aladdin to see how he’s faring.  

The Genie has seen this illness before. The memory is burned into his mind, it’s one of the few that never faded with all the time he spent inside his lamp. The desperate woman who rubbed his lamp lifetimes ago and begged him for just one wish. To save her son, a boy lying on a sickbed as ruined and broken as the boy in his arms, gashed and bleeding from a fall in a rock quarry and his wounds reddened and seeping. Only the Genie’s magic had kept that child from dying. And he’s afraid that without it, there’s nothing he can do for Aladdin now.

Aladdin nearly drowning terrified him enough for even a genie’s lifetime. And now he has to watch the boy fight for his life again, powerless to save him. 

When they reach the palace gates, the Genie holds his kid a little closer, pulling him away from the concerned gaze of the guards. He carries the boy into the palace, and Jasmine brings in a healer, then sits down beside Aladdin, helping the healer clean and dress his wounds. The smell of the herb poultices she lays on the swollen gashes fills the room and stings the Genie’s nose, and he can’t take his eyes off the bloodstains still covering her dress. Or his hands. His fingers are caked in dried red and brown blood. 

He sits down hard on a chair in the corner of the room, staring at the blood. _ I couldn’t save him.  _ He couldn’t stop Jafar or find Aladdin or even heal him now.  _ I’m useless. _ Why should the boy want him to be part of his life?

He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s Dalia. She looks pale, but her eyes are earnest. He can’t bear to look at her.  _ I can’t do anything for any of the ones I love. How can I promise to be there for her and our baby? _

She gently takes his bloodstained hands in her own, reaching for a towel and a basin of water from the table beside the bed to clean them. Her hands are shaking slightly...no, his are. Hers are steady.

“He’s strong,” she whispers. “He can survive this. He has before.” The Genie would have preferred to forget the moment just a day after the defeat of Jafar when Aladdin collapsed in the middle of a dinner with Jasmine, feverish and coughing. It seemed the combination of water in his lungs from nearly drowning, and the chill of the wintry wasteland he’d been banished to, had brought on a sickness of the lungs. He’d been kept in a room that was so thick with steam and the smells of brewing herbs that it was difficult to remain in, but the Genie had sat with him the entire time, as had Jasmine, both of them supporting him through painful coughing spasms and bringing him cool water when his fever raged. 

“This is different.” He’s seen the healer fussing over the wounds on Aladdin’s back and chest. It seems there’s a remnant of poisonous magic running through them, preventing them from closing. This isn’t simply a physical ailment. And the Genie has no power to counteract it. 

None of them dare use another wish from Jafar. He’s not to be trusted. He could twist any request, of that the Genie is certain.  _ He spent years learning to choose the right words to win over the Sultan. Years twisting the reports from the borders, from the common people, to favor his power-hungry agendas.  _ They can’t take a risk like that with Aladdin’s life. 

“I thought being a genie was hard,” he says quietly, watching as the water in the bowl turns red. “But it’s being human that’s harder.”  

She nods softly, dark eyes filled with tears. “Being human sometimes means watching the people you love most suffer, and the only thing you can do is stand with them through it.” She’s looking toward Jasmine now, and the Genie remembers what she told him about when Jasmine’s mother died. When Dalia, barely a teenager herself, held the sobbing child in her arms all night and sang to her through her own tears. 

Both of them join Jasmine at the bedside, and the Genie places one hand gently on hers where she’s holding a compress to one of the deeper wounds. She looks up at him, then back to Aladdin, but says nothing. There is no need to. Family need no words to understand each other. 


	8. Chapter 8

Aladdin can’t escape. No matter where he turns, Khalil is standing with his whip, Jafar is watching him with those burning eyes. Everything hurts, and no one will listen to him when he begs them to stop. 

Jafar’s laugh feels like it’s shaking his bones, and those burning eyes are scorching him like the sun. He can’t breathe, it’s so hot, he can feel his skin cracking and parching. He wants water, so badly, but he already knows no one will give it to him. 

He looks up, and there’s no one there. Jafar and Khalil are gone. And then, slowly, figures begin to appear, rising up from the sand in the rippling haze of heat. He knows they’re mirages, but some part of him is simply so desperate for anyone to be there.  _ Genie. Jasmine. Dalia. Abu. Rajah.  _ He tries to reach out to them, but his arm hurts so much. He can’t lift it. 

He tries to call out, to catch their attention, someone told him once that mirages only reflect what’s already there, like a mirror, so they should be somewhere, they should be close, maybe they can find him. “I’m right here, please, help me!” But not a sound slips past his dry lips. 

_ You are a slave. You have no voice. _ Khalil’s words ring cruelly in his ears.  _ You are nothing. You never were. Slave, street rat, thief, what right do you have to live in the palace?  _

_ I was right. You are more like me than you know. _ Jafar’s voice is sickeningly pleased.  _ A common street child, the one who has nothing, who wants it all and will do anything to get it. _

“That’s not what I’ve done.” But once again, his voice is silent, lips moving without sound.

And then the ground opens up beneath him and swallows him whole.

He’s falling, down the crevice in the ice in that frozen wasteland, alone. It’s so dark and cold. He can’t stop shivering. The shards of ice catch against his ruined skin and ragged clothing, wounding him more and tearing the rags he’s wearing to pitiful shreds that are useless against the icy wind. 

He hits the ground with a thud that drives all the air from his lungs, it hurts much, much worse than falling off a roof. He curls up in the darkness, shivering, alone and abandoned in the cold.  _ No one is coming for you. Why should they care to rescue a slave? _

* * *

The Genie has barely left Aladdin’s side in days. Neither have Jasmine or Dalia or even the former sultan. Abu and Rajah are curled on the end of the bed, and their fur looks dull, their eyes pained.

Dalia has been forcing the Genie and Jasmine to sleep, to eat, reminding them they are no good to Aladdin if they themselves become ill. But the Genie’s dreams are haunted by nightmares, and even the most delicious food in the palace tastes like sand in his mouth. He’s sure Jasmine feels the same. 

Despite their attentive care, Aladdin is no better. His wounds refuse to close, and remain as swollen and inflamed as ever. 

“He’s only growing worse.” The healer seems to be at a loss. “I have done everything I can, but it is no ordinary illness.” Her hands hover over the wounds, which seem to glow and pulse with a glimmer of energy. The Genie knows already what it is. Djinn magic.  _ It’s why he can’t heal. Whatever he was wounded with was imbued in it.  _

He pulls Jasmine aside, both of them glancing at the shivering, sweating boy in the bed. He’s still whispering incoherently. A few days ago, they could understand what he was saying. He was pleading for help, for someone to find him.  _ We can’t let this continue.  _

“What’s happening?” Jasmine asks. 

“It’s residual magic. Jafar helped Khalid...torture him. Whatever he did, it left magic in his blood. And humans can’t bear it.” He shakes his head. “Only a genie can survive with that power inside them. And…”

Lamps are made to contain djinn magic.  _ “Is the lamp magic, or are you?”  _ Aladdin had asked him what feels like a lifetime ago now. 

“What is it? Is he dying? Genie, I need you to tell me the truth!” Jasmine says, her hand fisted in his jacket, her eyes filling with tears. 

“I don’t know. But I might know a way to help him.” He looks down at her, and he hopes what happens next doesn’t destroy that tiny flicker of hope in her eyes. “Where are you keeping my lamp?”

Jasmine leads him to an intricately decorated cupboard in the corner of the room. The wood has been carved with pictures of a cave in the shape of a lion’s head, of an elephant, a flying carpet, the genie’s lamp itself.  _ It’s a story of what happened. _

Jasmine pulls out the brass lamp, running one finger over the surface. “How will your lamp heal him?”

“The reason a genie can live inside a lamp is that the lamp absorbs part of the djinn magic. It can’t contain all of it, most of it remains inside us. But it can contain a fragment of it.” He holds the tarnished metal gently. “I’m hoping we can draw out the magic into it. It’s a risk, but…”

“We have to try.”

He sets the lamp down carefully on the bed, watching the magic swirling through the wounds visible on Aladdin’s skin start to surge toward it.  _ The magic is never meant to exist uncontrolled in the world. Not like this. _

“Is it…” Dalia asks. 

“I don’t know.”  _ I don’t know  _ if _ it will.  _ He lowers his head, unable to look at the fever-bright eyes that seem to see nothing in the room, at the flushed cheeks and sweat stained hair.  _ Please. This is the only way I have left to help him. I have no magic left. He gave me what I wanted most, and because of that I can’t save him now. _

“Look.” Jasmine’s voice is a faint whisper. There’s a smell of something smoking, burning, and when he looks up, the red tendrils of magic are curling out from Aladdin’s body, wrapping themselves around the lamp. The metal is crackling, vibrating, smoking.  _ It’s never meant to contain power without a genie. _ But it’s calling to the magic, forcing it inside like it once forced him to remain hidden. 

The metal is melting into a puddle on the table, brass pooling and running like water, still rippling with red magic. But the wounds on Aladdin’s chest are no longer pulsing and glowing. They’re simply the raw red of any cut, and it seems almost as if they’re closing visibly, before the surprised eyes of everyone in the room. 

Aladdin blinks, then opens his eyes; they suddenly look much less hazy. He reaches for the hand Jasmine is resting on the bed, twisting his fingers around hers and smiling, then lets go and reaches for the Genie’s as well. His fingers tangle with the Genie’s, holding on strongly, full of life.  _ We’re going to be alright. _

* * *

“Be careful, Abu!” Jasmine scolds as the little monkey hops back and forth on the bed.

“Oh, he’s just excited.” Aladdin reaches over to rub Abu’s head playfully with his good hand. The other is still bound up tightly, broken bones knitting themselves together. The healers were unsure how well it would ever heal, after Jafar crushed it with the rock, but it seems the sand he was lying on helped to soften the blow, and it should give him less trouble than the leg he broke sliding off an awning running from guards when he was fifteen. This time at least it’s been properly treated. 

It has been three weeks since Khalil arrived at the palace. Aladdin doesn’t remember much of the first one. Everything is hazy, a tangle of fevered memories and magic. 

“Are you sure you should be getting up yet?” Dalia fusses. She herself has taken to resting quite often throughout the day, and the Genie says they will be sailing soon for a cooler climate for her to spend the last few months of her pregnancy in, where the heat will be less exhausting.

“It’s all I could do to make him agree not to go out running on the rooftops already.” Jasmine shakes her head. “If I find you on any of them, or if Hakim tells me he’s seen you, there will be consequences.” But she’s smiling. 

“What happens now?” Aladdin asks. Khalil is in the dungeons, but last he heard, the man was threatening to bring Kiribal into the argument, to start a war. “Khalil…”

“Khalil’s own country wants nothing to do with him.” Jasmine sounds relieved. “It seems the fact that he consorted with the djinn spirits has made him something of a threat. He’ll be spending the rest of his life in Agrabah’s dungeons. Bringing slaves into our lands means he has broken our laws, and will pay for it.”

“What about the lamp?”

The Genie smiles. “When Dalia and I sail away, we will take it to the furthest part of the ocean and throw it overboard. I doubt anyone will ever find Jafar at the bottom of the sea.” 

“Good.” Aladdin rests one arm around Jasmine’s shoulders, the other around the Genie’s, and takes the first step forward, with his family to support him. He couldn’t ask for a better one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely blown away by how much people have loved this story! I promise, I have many more ideas just waiting to be written! I'm in the process of writing an original novel right now, so I might be much slower updating in the future than I have been with this fic, but I have many plans and I will eventually be able to get to them...

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, because it's me, we all know that last line is a lie... 
> 
> This is a whole fic in the works, but I just couldn't wait any longer to share some of it with you!


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